


Missing: Fallen Angel in a Trenchcoat

by doctorcaslock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crossover, Fallen Angels, Gen, post Season 8 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorcaslock/pseuds/doctorcaslock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Found, as they are called, consist of humans who have appeared to have fallen from the sky. All over the world, people take them in, discovering that they have no idea who they are or what happened to them. They only remember their names, and soon websites are created to list the names of the Found, hoping someone, anywhere can claim their missing family member or friend. Found in the country just outside of London, a man name Castiel finds new friends in John Watson and (sort of) Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>Meanwhile, being in charge of Heaven is a lot more stressful than Metatron thought, and there is one flaw in his plan that can ruin everything.</p><p>Graphic violence is, so far, in only one paragraph, but i just want to be safe (don't worry, I'll reiterate the warning in the chapter that it is in)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“The Angels… They’re Falling.”_

—

John wakes up to an explosion. It takes him 2.74 seconds to get out of bed, and after another 6.18 seconds, he is running to the front door of his sister’s home with his gun in hand.

“What the hell happened?” He says, meeting up with Harry at her front door. She looks at him with concern, holding the front door open. She only shakes her head.

They both turn to look outside and they see something truly amazing. Infinite orbs of light falling from the low cast clouds.

“Meteor Shower?”

“John, something this big would make it to the news months ago, trust me, I would know,” Harry responds. She wraps herself tight in her nightgown.

John double checks his gun, and steps through door and heads outside. “Stay here,” he says, and he runs out. Harry lives in the countryside a couple of hours from London, so neighbors are few and Nature hogs up most of the landscapes. In front of Harry’s house is a large field, and after doing some mental calculations, John figures out the source of the explosion. He runs up the small hill and at the top he sees the scarred earth.

He almost slides down the hill and comes to a stop at the edge of the large circle. In the center, the charred earth is the darkest, and it fades moving outward. John cautiously walks towards the center of the small crater (not really a crater though; besides the burnt ground, it seems like nothing fell from the sky) and notices that nothing is there.

In the sky, the orbs continue to fall, but John notices that there are none that are falling in his general area. All of a sudden, he hears the shuffle of bushes to the right. It takes .02 seconds for John to raise his gun.

“Whose there? Show yourself now.” 

Slowly a figure appears in the bushes, and finally walking into the clearing is a man. John points the gun and watches him. He doesn’t notice John nor the gun. He is simply staring up at the sky. John can see his facial expression to be one of absolute sorrow and despair. Twigs and dirt are collected on his trenchcoat, and his hair is all disheveled. 

“I’m not going to say it again,” John said, clicking his gun.

The man slowly lowered his gaze to John, tears falling from his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he says, voice cracking just a bit, “But I do not know where I am.”

John blinks a couple of times. Did this man just imply that he fell from the sky? John shifts his weight and tries another question. “Well what do you know then?”

The man glances up at the sky before dropping his head to the floor. “I only know two things,” he says, and for some reason John lowers his gun, “The first is my name. I am Castiel. And the second is that I have caused this.” After he finishes, the man collapses on the ground. 

John rushes forward to check if he is still alive, which he is, and then, still kneeling at his, Castiel’s, side, takes out his phone. His eyes do not leave the body in front of him as he texts:

**You need to come to Harry’s. Now. -JW**

It takes 5.43 seconds before he gets his reply:

**I assume it is about the meteors? I also assume that you discovered they are, in fact, not meteors. I am on my way. -SH**


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean?”

Sam double checks his watch: 6:13am. He looks back at Dean, who is furiously typing on his laptop while both the Television and Radio are blaring the news.

_Shelters around the world have opened up to take in the victims of memory loss…_

_…Each person can only recall their name, but none of them have any idea what happened or where they came from…._

_… Surprisingly no one has come forward to claim a lost family member, but there are sites online that list each name of the Found…_

After hearing the news, Sam figures out why Dean has the bags under his eyes and the dozen or so empty bottles on the table.

“You are not going to find him like this.” Sam says.

“Yea and how do you figure we do then?” Dean pushes himself away from the table, stands up, and raises his hands above his head, as if displaying a sign. “MISSING: FALLEN ANGEL IN A TRENCHCOAT. IF FOUND PLEASE CALL THE WINCHESTERS. Yea I can see it now,” He glares at Sam and returns to his laptop.

After considering it, San nods his head. “Well, yea. Dean, they don’t know they are Angels that have fallen. People are trying to find out where these people belong to. If you say that you know one of them, one of their names, they will notice, and will help us find Cas.”

Dean stops typing. He leans his head forward on his hands and continues to stare at the screen. From the opposite side of the room, San cannot tell if it’s the endless hours of no sleep, staring at the computer screen, or from missing his friend, but he can swear he sees tears that threaten to fall from his brother’s eyes.

“Come on Dean, this may be the only way to find him. He can be anywhere.” Sam continues to stand there, waiting for his brother’s response. the noise of the news from the radio and tv breaks the silence, but they can both feel it.

All of a sudden, Dean’s posture straightens. Sam sees his jaw drop and, for the first time in God only knows how long, hope floods his eyes.

A small smile grows on Dean’s face. “Son of a bitch.” he says. He turns to Sam before saying, “He’s in the fucking UK.”

-x-

Sherlock leans forward in his black leather chair in 221b. Hands in their usual steeple position under his chin, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything.

He just  _observes._

The other night was a long one. After the two hour drive outside of London, Sherlock barged into Harry’s house to find one of the Found in her living room. He was sitting on Harry’s couch, just staring at the ground. Sherlock saw that there were tear streaks on his face. Unsurprising, given what he just went through. John told Sherlock that after giving his name and that other fact he remembered, the one about him apparently causing all of this, he remained silent. The three of them spent the night and the next morning they returned to Baker St.

“Castiel?” John says as he slowly lowers himself onto the couch.  _Ever the caregiver_ , thinks Sherlock, “Castiel, how are you feeling?”

Castiel is still silent, but he swallows and licks his lips.

“Are you thirsty? Would you like a glass of water?”

Castiel raises his head to look at John and, to both John and Sherlock’s pleasant surprise, nods.

“Well, alright then,” John smiles, “I’ll get you some water.” 

He gets up and goes to the kitchen. Sherlock still watches him on the couch. Castiel moves his head and they both make eye contact. Sherlock is again surprised that Castiel holds it, and it is only broken when John returns with a glass of water.

“So Castiel, there are websites that have put together lists of the names of the Found. I hope you don’t mind, but I put your name on it. Not only is it good to take a tally of how many people were found, but it is for your family to find you-“

“He has no family John. None of them do.”

“And explain to me why-“

“You know why, you just don’t want to say it. Castiel fell from the sky. All of these people found, have fallen from the sky. There cannot be a reason for thousands upon thousands of people to all of a sudden fall out of the sky in one night. There are not even enough aeroplanes to have people jump out of.” Sherlock stands up and begins to pace the room. Castiel watches him, mouth slightly open. “In order to solve this, we need to have an open mind. Accept anything that can have a reasonable explanation, even if it is something that is not in the norm of this world.”

He continues to pase the room. He makes his way to the bookshelf and that is when he spots something on the shelf, and it is then that everything clicks into place.

“Heaven.” Sherlock simply says. He takes out the bible on the bookshelf and opens it “Revelation 12:9 - And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.”

“No.”

The two men look at Castiel. He is shaking his head repeatedly but soon he looks up. “We did not fall because of Lucifer.”

John and Sherlock were still and quiet. After he said it, Castiel had a confused expression on his face. He glanced at both John and Sherlock before saying, “How did I know that?”

At that moment John’s laptop let out a beep. John, with his mouth still open from what they just discovered, went to his desk and opened his laptop. “An email. In response to your name, Castiel!” After clicking  and waiting for the email to load, John reads it. “Castiel,” John says, looking at him, “Does a Sam and Dean Winchester mean anything to you?”

Castiel stares at him. His eyebrows are brought together in concentration, but soon he shakes his head. “They do not, but if they responded to my name, I will meet with them.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Crowley?”

Sam opens the door to one of the extra bedrooms in the Batcave. When he opens the door he finds the cured demon sitting on his bed reading one of the books from the library. Lately, Crowley keeps to himself, only talking to Sam when he comes in and asks for food. Dean still doesn’t trust him, but Sam can see that the ex-King of Hell has some light in him.

“Hello Sam,” Crowley says, smiling up at him from his book.

“Hey, uhm, would you like some breakfast or anything?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“No problem- oh and great news: We found Cas. Turns out he landed outside of London. Dean and I are going to head over there in a couple of days. You don’t mind staying here do you?”

Crowley’s eyes lit up. “You found Cas? That’s great! Hopefully, well…. When he gets here I mean…”

“Yea I know. But I think he will find some sense in him to forgive you.”

“I really hope he does,” Crowley looked down, “I’m trying Sam, I really am.”

“I know Crowley. Let me get you some food. Maybe you should get out of your room for a bit, get some fresh air-” Sam double thinks about what he said. There are a limited number of windows in the Batcave, hence the name Batcave, “Well relatively of course.”

“Of course.”

Sam nods at him before backing out of the room. Crowley waits a second after he leaves before going back to his book.

“Dammit.”

Crowley looks up and finds a man sitting at the foot of his bed. He rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. We have a couple of days before the Moose and Squirrel go flying. We still have time.”

Metatron stands and paces the room, while Crowley leans back in his bed and brings the book closer to his face.

“You don’t understand. He is remembering.”

“So what? All the ex-Angels will remember some bits over time-“

“No but you don’t understand-” Metatron comes over and takes the book from Crowley’s hands. Before Crowley says anything, Metatron takes the glowing vial from around his neck and shows it to him. Containing pure light, the vial has a single crack about 3cm in length swimming across the surface. “This is the Angel’s grace. Once he gets this back, all the Angels get their wings. Every time he remembers something from his past, the crack grows. We can’t risk the Winchesters getting to him.”

Crowley stares at the vial. Inside, the white light takes on a silvery liquid, constantly in motion. “Don’t worry.” Crowley says, letting the information he just learned sink in. “I’ll take care of the Winchesters. You keep an eye on the Ex-Angel.”

“Crowley you coming out?”

Crowley looks at the closed door, hearing Sam calling him from the other side.

“Yea Mo-Sam. I’l be right out.” Crowley looks around his empty room once more before getting up.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel likes to sit at the window. He sits there all day, whether someone is there or not. John, though he never says it, likes to think of Castiel as a cat. He does nothing all day, but unlike a cat, he doesn't bother anyone. Every once and a while, Sherlock would observe and ask him some questions, but Castiel's answers are very limited.

"So the Found are all Angels that have fallen, how would that have happened?"

"I do not know."

"Are there any other memories that are just out of reach?"

"Not that I know of, sorry."

Soon though, Sherlock gives up, and calls Lestrade, asking for any cases that do not involve people with no memories. Both he and John decided not to tell anyone that they are fallen Angels, becasue not only would people go crazy, but for the Angels' protection. They will want to be studied, and John has already prevented Sherlock from doing any physical studies on Castiel many a time.

"Just some blood John, you can take it if you want to!"

"No. We are not touching him until the Winchesters get here."

This would cause Sherlock to drop onto his chair in a rut, and Castiel to watch them from his window. John has also noticed that Castiel would take books from their bookshelf and flip through a couple of pages before putting them back. Sherlock was the first to notice this; Castiel would put them back so neatly, that only the traces of dust gave him away. Like Sherlock, Castiel would forget to eat, but John believes that Castiel genuinely forgets; as opposed to Sherlock who just shrugs it off, Castiel has probably never had the need to eat, and now that he is human, hunger creeps up on him out of nowhere.

"John, my stomach is making noises, and it hurts."

"Have you eaten today Castiel?"

Castiel looks at the ground, almost in shame. "I have not. I am sorry."

John could only smile, "It's okay Castiel. Just remember, when there is even a hint of that pain, hunger, you can just come into the kitchen and grab something to eat." John heads into the kitchen, with Castiel on his heels, and opens the fridge. Unsurprisingly, there are bags and tupperwear full of pinky toes and, John narrows his eyes, are those lungs?! "How about this," John slams the door shut. He really needs to tell Sherlock to organize his body parts, or they are going to be thrown into his wardrobe, along with this thousand dollar suits, "If I am not home, just go downstairs and ask Mrs. Hudson for something to eat.

Castiel smiles. He likes Mrs. Hudson. She gives him hugs and sweets and he feels save with her. "Okay John."

They are interrupted buy the bell from downstairs. "That must be them. Are you ready?"

Castiel takes a deep breath and glances at the floor before looking back at John. "I think so." John pats him on the arm and moves him into the living room. Sherlock shoots out of his room.

"They're here?" he asks, but before John could answer Sherlock buttons his suit jacket and straightens himself up.

"What are you doing? Going on a date?" John asks.

"Obviously not. We have to make sure these 'friends' of Castiel are who they say they are. I won't send Castiel off to just anyone."

"Oh," John said in surprised.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at John before heading downstairs. The door is knocked two more times before Sherlock reaches it. "Yes, hold on." He opens the door and sees a single man standing outside. "Yes, who are you?"

The man is short, and is older than Sherlock. His dark hair is receding and curly, and his lips are hidden behind his small beard and moustache. "Yes, hello, my name is Sam Winchester. I must apologize, but my brother is terrified of flying, so I came by myself. Are you the one who found Cas?"

Sherlock looked at him. something seems off, but yet again, the email never gave any specifics on looks or age. Still, he will be on his guard with this one. "Yes, come in." Sherlock let Sam in before closing the door behind him. As Sam walks past him, Sherlock notices a small lump around his neck, but he doesn't say anything. They both head upstairs. 

"Cas!" Sam says. He seems to deflate in size with relief, and runs to give Castiel a hug. Castiel, though, stands still and doesn't react. Sam backs up a bit and holds the Fallen Angel by the arms. "Oh Cas, it it so good to see you," Sam looks genuine in his statement, but Castiel shakes out of his grasp.

"You are not Sam Winchester."

John fixes his grip on the gun behind his back. He looks at Sherlock and nods. Sherlock silenlty moves to close the doors, preventing any escape.

Sam's smile falters a bit, but he quickly recovers. "Well of course you're gonna say that, you don't remember a thing. But don't worry, there are reports saying that memories are beginning to return to the Found. Once you come back with me to the States, with Dean-"

"You are not going anywhere." Sherlock says, and behind Castiel John makes his gun visible. At this point Metatron is still smiling, but his heart is racing, and he can begin to feel sweat on his brow forming.

"You are right, I do not remember who the Winchesters are, but I know they are not you."

Under his shirt, Metatron can feel the vial form another small crack. His smile disappears. "Fine. You got me, but this won't be the last you'll see of me."

John raises his gun, but before he is able to shoot, Metatron disappears into nothing. He lowers it and blinks in confusion. "What the hell?"

"Well that confirms the Angel theory," Sherlock says, running around making the doors are all closed and that the man is gone for now. "It also means that your only other memory of you causing this must be true, if this man is after you." After making sure the windows are locked shut, he turns to Castiel, "Do you have any idea who he might be?"

Castiel still looks at the spot where the man who called himself Sam stood only moments before. "I do not." He remains silent, new heart racing. How does he not know? He needs to know; these facts are necessary in order to save himself, "But if he is after me, and knows of the Winchesters, that must mean they are in danger as well-"

"If they even exsist." Sherlock mumbles, looking out the window, "He could have made them up."

Castiel's gaze once again dropped to the floor. "Maybe you are right."

\--

Crowley sits at the large table while Sam and Dean run around with their last minute packing. He rolls his eyes. "How long are you going to be over there again?"

"Sam passes by in a hurry but manages to answer, "It depends, Castiel could remember us with first sight, or he becomes hostile-"

"Which I highly doubt-" Dean yells from the other room.

"But is still possible," Sam responds. He sets his toiletry bag in the table next to Crowley and begins to make a mental list of what he has, "Are you sure you will be okay while we are gone?"

"Oh yea, I'll be fine. But Sam," Crowley makes sure that Dean is busy in the other room. "Sam, I have something to ask you."

Sam stops what he is doing and focuses on Crowley, "Yea? What is it?"

Crowley pauses, trying to figure out how to best ask his question. "How, how long does this, this," he motions to himself, "healing last?"

Sam cocks his head to the side and pulls out a chair to sit next to the ex-demon. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, but... I have been getting these, these thoughts."

Sam straightens up in his seat, "Crowley, you're not-"

"Oh no! No I'm not. Well, not yet at least. They have been forming once every couple of days, but lately thet have been getting more common."

Sam sits there thinking. Finally, "We can't leave you here alone." he says.

_Bingo._

"I'll stay here, and Dean will go to London."

"What? What?! WHAT!?" Dean runs into the main room of the Batcave, "To hell I'm going by myself. You know I hate flying Sammy, you can't let me go alone!"

"Dean, Crowley is saying he is getting these thoughts, we can't leave him here alone-"

"Then make him come with us-"

"Absolutley not," Sam says, and he stands up. Even though he is taller than Dean, Dean still stands straight, shoulders squared. "Dean, what if he cracks in London?"

"What if I crack on the plane?" Crowley says from the table. Dean looks at him and sees him leaning on one arm on the table. Dean clenches his fists.

"Fine, but put him in a demon trap, I'm not risking him alone with you Sammy."

"Dean, I don't-"

"I'm going to London by myself, and he is staying here in a fucking Demon trap."

Sam sighs, but Crowley still has a facial expression that seems more than pleased, and he doesn't try to hide it from Dean. "Okay Dean." Sam finally agrees, "You should get going, here, we'll bring you to the airport."


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel kneels down in front of the flowers, focusing on one little bumple bee sipping out nectar and collecting pollen on its back legs.

At the back door of the house, Lestrade slowly turns to John.

"So this Found-"

"Castiel," John said, "He's a human too Lestrade, not a dog."

"Sorry, Castiel, he said he caused all of this?"

Sherlock was called in for a case that involved a death of a Found, and this peaked his interest, becasue it might answer some questions the three of them have, as well as making Castiel remember more memories. The victim was named Raziel, and the family he was staying with were all at work. The poilice were called in, and Lestrade called Sherlock. Sherlock was not surprised when he was told that all the windows and doors were locked. He told this to Castiel, and upon hearing this, Castiel immediately accused the man who made up the Winchesters. While Sherlock thought so too, he told Castiel not to jump to any conclusions without all of the facts. 

"Castiel, are you ready to go in?" Sherlock asks him.

"Yes I am," Castiel straightens up and walks towards the house. John and Leastrade notice that the bee leaves the garden and follows Castiel into the house. Lestrade lifts a hand to swipe it away, but is stopped by John.

The body is in the upstairs living room. When they opened the door, they were surprised to not smell anything out of the ordinary, despite the dead body on the bed. Castiel stepped forward and looked over Raziel's body. A single slit to the throat, but there was something here that wasn't right.

"There's no blood," Lestrade said, "No blood, all doors locked, yet here lies a dead person."

Sherlock says nothing, but he simply watches Castiel move around the room, looking at the body from different angles. From the door, to the window, to the wardrobe, he looks at the body. Then he gets really close to the slit throat. "Can someone open this please?"

No one answers him, but soon, John steps forward uneasily, putting on a pair of latex gloves. "What do you need opened?"

"Just open his throat a little bit, I need to look inside."

John turns back to Sherlock, who seems to be in deep concentration, trying to figure out what Castiel wants to see. He turns back and carefully opens the slit on Raziel's neck. Castiel leans over the bed and moves his face inches away from the wound. After a couple of seconds he stands up straight.

"I need to speak to John and Sherlock alone, if you do not mind."

Lestrade raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you know what heppened to him?"

"I believe I do, but I cannot discuss it with you." Lestrade looks at Sherlock and John.

"You heard him Lestrade," Sherlock says.

"You'll let me know what he says later, if he is right, then I need to repo-"

"Don't worry Lestrade." Sherlock says.

Leastrade sighs, he is never going to know. "Alright then, come on men, out."

Castiel waits for everyone to leave. When the three of them are alone, John asks, now standing, "Castiel what did you see?"

"If you open it again John, you and Sherlock will see something that no human has." Castiel steps away from the bed, allowing space for Sherlock to take his place on the opposite side of the bed as John.

John opens the slit once more and they both look in. At first they see what is usually in a human's neck, muscles, veins, arteries, but soon, "There," John says. He turns to look around, and after finding a pen on the end table, he reopens the slit, a little wider this time, with his right hand and points into the throat with the pen. "That is not normal," he says. He points at a small grey sphere that sits within the muscle tissue. It looks like a small rubber ball that also has a small slit in it.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks, angling his head to get a better view. It looks deflated, as if whatever was inside was taken out.

"It holds the grace."

"Grace?" John asks. "What's a grace?

"It's what makes an angel, an angel."

The two men immediately look up to Castiel. "You're remembering," Sherlock said.

"Yes," Castiel says, but then he brings his hand to his head, but he continues, "All Angels have their grace, their power. It is the light within them. When we take a human vessel, the vessels develop this sphere in their throat. It holds our grace as along as we are inside the human vessel. It does no harm to the human, but when we leave, it stays. When an Angel's grace is taken from them, the throat and this container are slit, letting loose the grace that is then kept in a vial that the captor keeps around his or her neck-"

"Vial?" Sherlock interrupts. He stands up, "I remember seeing a lump around the neck of the imposter."

"If he was after me, I am sure that is someone's grace around his neck."

"If he already has an Angel's grace, than why is he going around slitting other fallen angels' throats?" John asks.

"I.. do not know," Castiel says.

"Yet. Let's get back to Baker Street. I will tell Lestrade to keep an eye out for other murders that have slit throats."

\--

The rain is at a steady pour when the three men return to Baker Street. Immediately Castiel takes to his spot by the window. The bee that followed him from the garden buzzes happily around him, every once and a while landing on his shoulder. 

"So this man who is after Castiel is also after other fallen angels," John summarizes, sitting at his computer. Instead of making a post for his blog, he writes everything out on a word document. These theories and facts are not for the public to see, but he cannot handle not writing it out. "Slitting their throats and stealing their grace, but wait. Since they are fallen angels, would these containers be empty?"

"Fallen or not," Castiel says, still looking out the window, "They will still hold onto their grace. However, the wisps will be weak and dull. A single thread of smoke."

"He is preventing any other fallen angels to regain their memories," Sherlock says, pacing the room.

"But the question is why? Castiel is regaining his memories, and nothing too bad has happened. Right?"

Castiel can feel the two other men staring at him. He is about to answer, when he sees an umbrella make its way to the front door of 221. He remembers Mrs. Husdon being home, so it cannot be her, "You have a visitor," he says, and just as he finishes the sentence the bell rings.

"I'll get it," John says, and he takes his gun and sticks it underneath his belt.

When he gets downstairs, he runs into Mrs. Hudson. "Don' worry, Mrs. Husdon, I got it."

"Okay dear," she sees the outline of John's gun sticking out from under his shirt. "Do be careful John, whoever it might be," and she turns and goes back into her flat.

John opens the door and is greeted by a young man. He looks as nervous as hell, and just as tired. He bounces from one leg to the other in an axious manner, and when he finally meets John's eyes he freezes. Before speaking, he swallows hard. "Yes uhm, hello. My name is Dean Winchester, me and my brother emailed you a couple of days ago. You said you found Cas?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact Raziel is the Angel of Mysteries


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gore warning: not bad, but its in the beginning, just some ickiness with angels' throats.

_"Castiel."_

_"Hmm?" Ashley said, not turning away from the dishes she was watching._

_Pausing from cleaning the table, Isda said again, "Castiel."_

_"What's Castiel?" Ashley finally turned to look at Isda. She was standing still, looking straight forward, with a dirty plat tilding in her hand. "Isda, are you okay?"_

_Isda blinked a couple of times, coming out of her trance. She rubbed her head. "Yea, yea. Sorry, I think it was a memory, but all it was was that one name."_

_"Name? So it's who is Castiel. Sounds like another Found. All of you ugys have those types of names ya know?"_

_"Yea," Isda wasn't listening anymore. She put the dish on the table and went into the living room to find Ashley's laptop. Opening it up, she typed in one of the main websites that contained the many lists of the names of the Found. Eventually she found him. "Castiel," she read outloud, "London. He's in London-"_

_"London? You don't need to go to London. Actually, I would rather you don't go anywhere."_

_Isda and Ashley both turned and saw a man standing in the living room._

_"Who are you?" Ashley demanded, picking up a dirty butter knife from the table, "How did you get in here?"_

_Metatron smiled, but on the inside,_ shit shit shit not another one _, "Don't worry about that."_

_His knife slid into his hand from under his sleeve and in two swift movements he slit Ashley's throat. Ashley fell fast, blood pulsing out of her neck. Isda backed away from him. "He will remember everything," Isda said, trying to make her last moments count. "Castiel. He will remember and he will stop you."_

_"Don't worry, dear, I will make sure he won't." He rushed forward and ran the knife along her jugular, yet no blood poured out. He was able to catch her as she fell, and as he tilts her head back, he can see the same grey spehere in her throat as Raziel. He took the knife and again cut it into the sphere. He dug his fingers into her throat and squeezed the sphere, and out from the slip came a single threat of pure white smoke. It floated upward away from Isda's body, and once it was at eye level, Matatron blew at it, causing it to diminish._

_Mtatron dropped Isda's body and stood up. He sighed, and wiped his sweaty brow. He took out his vial with Castiel's grace and looked at the developing spider web of cracks. "Shit," he said, before disappearing._

_\--_

_  
_Dean swallows, "Cas, is he here?" he turns his head to look at Speedy's. The smell of fresh pastries and coffee fill his lungs along with the smell of the pouring rain. The smell is comforting, but he is still on edge. He hasn't seen or heard from Castiel in weeks, and now that he has potentially found him, he is a nervous reck. Will Cas remember him? Will he deny ever knowing Dean? He doesn't know which situation is worse. The man in the doorway stares at him, trying to figure out what to say.

"Dean Winchester?" he asks simply.

"Yea, me and my brother emailed you last week." he reiterates. With each passing second his heartbeat increases.  _Just answer my goddamned question!_

"Where is your brother?"

"He had to stay in the states we uh, had a problem pop up. Why, did you need both of us?"

The man looks behind him, into the building, and then back at Dean. Dean angles his body to see what he was looking at, and soon another man appears at the door. This one looked a couple of years younger, and defnitely a couple of inches taller. 

"He says he's Dean Winchester," and at this moment Dean notices that the shorter man held his hand behind his back.

"Listen, I am Dean Winchester, I am not a random weirdo trying to pick up random people with no memories. He's not even human-"  _fuck_ , Dean thinks, cursing himself for letting that slip. How the men reacts to his statement, however, tells Dean that what he said was a good slip.

"Not human?" the shorter one says.

"How do you know that?" The taller one says, but before Dean could answer, "Nevermind that. John, this is Dean Winchester. The real Dean Winchester. Let him in." and without another word, he turns and disappears from the doorway. The shorter man, John, gives Dean another look before saying, "You heard him, come on in."

Dean licked his lips nervously as he followed John upstairs. "So you're John, and that was Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yup," Dean paused and turned to shake John's hand.

"I can't expain how thankful I am."

"Yea well, Castiel didnt come without his problems."

Dean laughs, "As long as you didn't feed him any cheeseburgers I am sure he couldn't've been that bad."

"No cheesburgers, but lately he has a small bumble bee that follows him around."

Dean laughs again, and they are on the landing to 221b. The door is open, and behind him John tells him that he can go inside while taking his bag and the umbrella. Dean walks into the livingroom and his heart stops when he sees him.

"Hey Cas."

Castiel watches him walk into the room, and Dean can tell in his eyes that he is rying very hard to get his memories in order, but he sees not recognition.

"Are you Dean Winchester?"

"Yea Cas, it's me." Dean should have expected this. He did expect this; but that doesn't make it hurt any less. Sherlock and John stand in the kitchen, giving them privacy, but the door is still cracked open.

"How did you know it was him?" John whispered.

"The way his neves were acting, it was obvious. When the other man came he was calm and cool. He had no emotional connection with Castiel. This man certainly does. John peaks through the crack into hte living room and Castiel glances at him before returning his focus to Dean.

The face is familiar, and now thinking aobut it, the name is becoming more familiar as well. Dean sits in John's chair while Castiel still sits at the window, as he racounts stories that the two of them, as well as Sam, have lived through.

"We saved eachother countless times, Cas."

Castiel sits and listen, and as Dean continues to tell stories of Angels and Demons and the Apocolypse- "You called him Assbutt, I still don't know why," these memories in Castiel's mind begin to take form.

Still in the kitchen, John leaned in the doorway, listening to everything. He can also tell that Castiel is remembering. Everything is halted when Sherlock's phone goes off.

"Sherlock Holmes... Yes.... We are on our way." He hangs up and walks into the living room.

"Another murder of an angle."

"Wait, someone's murdering angels?"

"They are stealing their grace Dean. The throats are slit and inside are spheres that hold onto the grace. The murder slits them open and destroys the grace entirely."

Dean is silent, switching his gaze between Castiel, John and Sherlock. "I have to tell Sammy. Also I am not leaving his side," Dean clenches his fists, and Sherlock looks at them before answering, "Fine. Borrow my phone, it has email." Sherlock tossed Dean his phone and without another words, grabs his coat and heads downstairs. Before he follows, John turns to Dean and Castiel.

"Are you two going to be okay?"

Dean puts his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and smiles, "Yea I think so, don't you?"

Cas smiles back, the touch comforting, "Yes, I think so too."

John nods at them both and begins to head downstairs. Behind him, John can hear Dean say, "Damn Cas, what is with this bee?" as they follow him downstairs.

"He is my friend Dean, and if you are my friend too you two need to learn to be friends as well."

\--

This time two females are lying in their living room. Both have their throats lsit, but only one is covered in blood.

"Jesus Christ," Dean says. On their way to the crime scene he sent Sam an email.

_Sammy-_

_You won't believe it, it's Cas. We found him. He didn't rememeber me at firt, but as I told him stories of all the shit we went through, I know- I KNOW that something must have clicked in his head. We are now looking at these murders that consiste of the Fallen Angels that have their hroats cut open like a giant paper cut. Cas says that someone is stealing their grace and destroying it. I have no idea who is behind it, but I think Naomi is behind all of this. I'll keep you updated, but also keep an eye out for any murders over there._

_See ya in a few days_

Now, standing in the small flat, he thinks out loud. "Why would Naomi want to kill the angels?"

"Who?" John asks.

"Naomi. Fricken bitch at first, but towards the end, right before everyone fell like apples, she wanted to be on our side. Cas, do you hve any spark of an idea of what happened to Naomi?"

Castiel was looking at the angel's body, and he once again inpsected her throat. "I remember who Naomi was, but I do not remember what happened to her."

"Hmm." Dean said, but then another name popped into his head. "What about Metatron?"

At this Castiel pauses. His head begins to throb, and he slowly stands up.  _Metatron..._

"Cas you okay?" Dean rushed forward and supported the Fallen Angel.

_Metatron_

_Metatron_

_That's it._

"It's him. Metatron." At this point it seems like his head is exploding, "Dean, I... the memories. All of them.." and then he collapses.

\--

"He remembers, Crowley. This vial is going to break at any moment." Metatron stands in the main room of the Batcave with the vial in his hand. He gently places it on the table. "One more word and we are done-"

"Oh shut it Angel, as long as that is in tact we are fine. If it does break because of somthing stupid that was your fault. We have a backup plan. Now if you excuse me, I have to feed the Moose."

Crowley gets up from the table and heads downstairs. He passes the shooting range into one of the rooms beyond labeled 7B. Pushing one of the bookshelves aside, he opens up into the hidden dungeon. Inside, beyond the scraped up Demon's trap that now serves no purpose, sits Sam. Black eye and dried blood on his face, he is tied up in the chains. He looks at Crowley.

"Hey Moose," Crowley says with a smile.

Sam says nothing.

"How 'bout some breakfast, yes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope that reunion lived up to expectations. Still learning to write about that sort of stoof. Well I hope you enjoy! The next Chapter should be up in the next couple of days, I have to apply to my first big-girl job O-O


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i have no idea where this plot is going.. Everything i publish is whatever comes out of my head at the time. Sometimes it works though, so I'll keep doing that.

"Dean, my head hurts."

"I know, buddy, just hang in there."

Dean has learned to not swipe his hand at the buzzing that comes close to his ear. They sit in the kitchen of 221b and John gives Castiel a cup of hot tea. "Here, this helps all of my problems, I am sure they wil help your headache at least."

"It certainly won't help the problem at large though," Sherlock says, plucking the strings of his violin. "Metatron was the man who said he was Sam."

"Yes," Castiel says, taking a sip of the tea.

"Who, by the way, never answered my email." Dean said, tapping his fingers on the table, "He never goes this long without answering my email. And especially with Crowley with him," Dean pauses.

"Crowley?" John asks. He takes a seat at the table across from Dean and Castiel. "You said he was some kind of ex-demon?"

"So he says. I don't buy it for a second. I told Sam to put him in a demon's trap before I left, but since he hasn't answered, I am thinking that something went wrong. Which leads into the fact that me and Cas are leaving. We are going back to the States as soon as possible."

"What?" John starts, at the same time Sherlock says, "My brother will get you a plane to leave tonight."

"Sherlock, we can't let them leave, what about these angel deaths?"

"John, if this ex-demon, is, infact, not an ex, then Dean's brother is in danger, and if something happens to him, then Dean will be in no shape to help us."

John doesn't say anything, but looks to Dean. Dean straightens in his chair. "I have to check on my brother."

The only thing John can do is nod, "Who am I to tell you otherwise?"

Castiel stands. "I will be going with Dean."

This time Sherlock looks up.

"If I do remember corectly, Crowley is more powerful and more of a threat than Metatron. Yes, Metatron is killing Fallen Angels, but Crowley has the power to control hundreds and thousands of demons, and if he has regained his power, then there are going to be more killings, and not just angels. While we are gone, keep an eye out for angel killings, maybe find some of the Found that are still alive, give them protection." Castiel went to John's desk and took out a pen and paper. Sherlock watched him from his seat as Castiel scribbled an image on the paper. "If you o find any of the Found that are still alive, make them draw this sigil somewhere in their building. It keeps angels out, and Metatron is still an angel. I am sorry, but that is the best we can do a this moment in time." 

Sherlock takes the paper and looks at the symbols. "You should mark this plae too, you know, just in case," Dean added. Sherlock doesn't say anything, but nods.

"I will call my brother now."

An hour later, Dean and Cas head out to the black car waiting for them outside. Before they leave, they make sure that 221 Baker Street is protected from any possible threat. 

"Good luck you two," John says, "Be careful too."

"We will," Castiel says, as Dean packs the car, "And thank you, both of you, for your hospitality."

"You're welcome, Castiel and I am glad that you were able to find Dean. You are both welcome to come back whenever you want, and Sam as well."

Castiel gives him one last smile before going to the car with Dean.

* * *

Almost ten hours later, Dean and Cas finally arrive at the Batcave. On the inside, Dean's heart beats a million beats a second. He is nervous for Sam, not knowing why he hasn't answered Dean's emails or calls once they returned to America, but on the outside he keeps his calm. "Do you remember any of this Cas?"

Cas has his own duffle bag over his shoulder and he looks at the concrete abandoned facade. "I think so, maybe a little bit."

Dean only nods, and then goes to some bushes to the side of the building. He trturns with a pair of knives. "I couldn't bring any guns, obvioulsy, but I have these stored, just in case. You know how to handle a knife right?"

"I may have lost my memory, Dean, but I am still capable of physical combat." Cas takes one of the knifes nonetheless.

"Okay. You ready?" 

Castiel nods, and then they go inside.

They enter the main room. It is quiet. Too quiet for Dean's liking. He looks back at Cas, before yelling out, "Crowley?" He waits. No response. "Goddammit Crowley where are you!? Where's Sam?!"

There is no immediate response, but Castiel moves ahead of Dean and pauses, "Dean, did you hear that?"

They both stand still, and very faintly, can hear screaming from the depths of the building.

"Son of a Bitch-" Dean pushes past Cas and runs into the building. He disappears before Cas gets a chance to follow him, and since Castiel doesn't remember the layout of the Batcave, he stands in the main entrance by himself. He stands in the center of the room. He slowly looks around, feeling like someone is there with him. 

"Hello Castiel."

Cas looks over. "Metatron." Cas can see the vial of milky glow around his neck. Castiel's grace. He also notices the spider web of cracks in the glass. The threat of the vial breaking is high. Castiel knows that if he gets to the vial, if he breaks it, he will regain the rest of his memories, as well as his grace.

Metatron watches Castiel, but Castiel can tell by his eyes and stance that he is uneasy. Scared even. Both good and bad. Castiel's grip on his knife tightens. "What are you doing here?" Castiel says, slightly tilting his head to the side.

"You know, if Dean saw you do that," Metatron laughs, not finishing his statement. Castiel narrows his eyes unsure of what the last Angel is implying. "You know, Castiel, to be honest, I need your help."

"I am not helping you Metatron-"

"No but you do. You need to, Castiel, because it's not just me who is at risk, it's the Winchesters."

"How?"

At this point, Metatron lets his nerves show. He shrinks into himself a bit, and his eyes dart across the room. He turns and looks down the hall that Dean disappeared through, before turning back to Castiel. "It's Crowley. He has been faking it the whole time- and this time he is mad, really mad. Since I am the only one between him and Heaven, he wants to get rid of me, so he has control of both heaven and hell. We need to get rid of him-"

"And why would I believe you?" Castiel demands. He can faintly hear the soft buzz of his bee, flying around the room.

Metatron licks his lips. "Because I'm the last Angel Cas, we can't be wiped out. Angel's extinct? The world would descend into chaos!"

Castiel is silent. Metatron  uneasily took a couple of steps forward. "If I remember correctly, Metatron, it was you who began all of this."

Metatron looked down, seeming to shrink in size. "Actually Castiel, it was all you-"

All of a sudden, Metatron sprang forward towards Castiel. Without his grace, Castiel did not see him coming, and Metatron tackled him onto the ground. Castiel drops his knife in surprise, and Metatron was able to pick it up. On the ground, Metetron straddles Castiel, with the knife up against his neck. Between the two of them, the vial swings.

"Try and make a move Castiel, and I won't hesitate," showing Castiel what he means, Metatron puts enough pressure on the knife to break the skin on Castiel's throat. At this Metatron laughs, "My, is this familiar Castiel, but this time I will complete the hassle of getting rid of  _you_."

Castiel tried to yell, to shake him off, but he knew that he was only human, not an angel.

... Only human.

A hot trail of blood forms on his neck as it falls to the ground. "You know Metatron," Castiel said, eyeing the insect flying only feet above them, "you may be an angel, but your vessel is still only human."

Metatron backs away for a moment, trying to figure out what Castiel means, when an intense pain erupts in his own neck. With a yell, Metatron brings his hand up to his neck, trying to apply pressure to the sting. The bumble bee falls to the floor then, only to roll a bit before flying away. Castiel took this opportunity to swipe the knife to the side and grabbed the vial from around his neck and slamming it on the ground next to him.

The room explodes in light.

Metatron is flown back, crashing into the table and chairs. He grunts, and once the light dies down a bit, his opens his eyes.

Standing tall, Castiel stands in front of him. Light radiates from his body, and everything is bright and white with two exceptions: his deep blue eyes, and the pair of jet black wings behind him. The shadows stretch out tall behins him, the outline of plumage full and menacing.

Metatron gulps. "Shit.." he mutters, but quickly regins his posture. Still on the ground, he shouts to Castiel. "You may have your grace back, but I still have something under my sleeve. See you in London!"

He vanishes, and the light dies. Castiel takes a breath, "No.."

* * *

"Sam?" Dean yells. He finally approaches the dungeon that is hidden. The door is open, and Dean rushes inside. He sees Sam huddled in the corner, with blood on his face and wround his wrists. "Jesus Chirst, Sam-" Dean rushes forward and releases Sam from the cuffs around his wrists. He was suspicious of how easily he was able to free Sam, but before he asks anthing, he rushes Sam out of the dungeon. "What the hell happened?"

Sam gives Dean a look ful of guilt. "I was Crowley, Dean, I am so sorry-"

"Don't worry about that now Sam. Just tell me what happened."

"He's- he's working with Metatron."

"Well I wouldn't say 'working with' exactly."

Dean turns around and standing in the doorway, is Crowley. "Hello Squirrel."

"You Son of a Bitch-!"

"Now Dean," Crowley says, holdng his hands up. "Despite of what is in front of you, I am on your side."

"You have 30 seconds to make me believe you-"

"In a nutshell then, okay-"

"25-"

"Metatron wants to kill all of the Angels and gain control of everything. Heaven, Hell, the lot. I have been playing along with him until now, because I need to off him."

Dean stares at him, "And you think I am going to help you after what you did to Sam-"

"What I did to Sam, is a lot better than what Metatron wanted to do to him. Now, you can believe me or not, but either way, Metatron must be stopped."

At that moment, the three of them look up to the ceiling as something above them crash.

"Castiel," Dean says, heart stopping. He looks to Sam, who nods to him, and then he holds the iron knife in front of him at Crowley. "Upstairs. Now."

Crowley holds up his hands. "Whatever you say," and he turns and allows Dean to follow him upstairs.

They arrive in the main room once more and Dean sees Castiel alone. Castiel glares at Crowley, who smirks back. "Hello Cas, I'm sure you don't remember me."

Dean opens his eyes wide though, for Castiel is standing tall with his shoulders squared and his head held high. Dean then looks at the ground and sees shattered glass. "I remember you Crowley," Castiel says. Crowley's smirk slowly disappears, as he realizes. "I remember everything now. And I know where Metetron left to. Dean," he pauses, looking at Dean, "We need to go back to Baker Street. Now." Castiel rushes towards him. He only pauses as he passes Crowley, who looks more shocked, and even scared. "We will be back." He touches Crowley's forehead with his fingers, and Crowley collapses. Then he turns back to Dean. Dean only looks back at the Angel, a smile growing on his face.

"Welcome back, Cas," he says. Castiel only looks down before looking back at Dean, and Dean sees the side of his mouth twitch upward in a smirk.

"Sam will be okay, and he will be able to take care of Crowley, but we need to help John and Sherlock." Dean only nods, estatic that his friend has his gracce back, and he welocmes Castiel's touch to his forehead, and after a blink of an eye, they are back at Baker Street.


	8. Chapter 8

**Death of the Found still on the rise, total now 5**

**  
**John reads the same news article for the 5th time, and for the 25th time, he hears an exasperated sigh. "Sherlock, we can't go anywhere yet, not without any update from Dean," he says, not looking up. It has almost been 24 hours since the two Americans left for the States, and since then, Lestrade has called Sherlock three times, begging him to come to the most recent murder of a Found. Before they left, Dean warned the two not to leave their flat until they come back, but since they are not hearing any updates from across the pond, John is beginning to get nervous, and Sherlock, well, Sherlock cannot be confined in one place for so long.

"But John, this one was found on the shore of the Thames. It is different from everyone else. It could be a copycat-"

"Or a plot to get you outside, away from this protection. No, Sherlock. Go, I don't know, play your violin or mope on the couch."

Sherlock pauses in front of John, who was siting on his chair with the newspaper folded on his lap. At first Sherlock says nothing, just glares at John, but then he snatches up the newspaper and rips it in half before stomping towards the couch.

"Very mature Sherlock." John sighed, as the Consulting Detective-slash-5-year-old flops down on the couch. He wraps his nightgown tightly around his body and yells "BOORRED!" into the couch pillows. John doesn't respond, but gets up to make his third cup of tea.

He brings the kettle to the sink to fill it up and looks at the mysterious sigil on the window in front of him. Castiel had him mark all of the windows with a thick magic marker before, and the dark ink sort of shimmers dimly in the kitchen light. John leans forward, curious as to the soft glimmering, when he feels something on his hand. He looks down to see the kettle almost overflowing, and a dime sized spider crawling on his hand.

"Shit!-" John yells in surprise, and out of instinct his left hand that is holding onto the kettle shoots upward, splashing water everywhere, including the window, where the protective sigil drops and breaks as the water washes out the ink- "Fuck, Sherlock-!" John is interrupted with the sudden blast from the window, knocking him hard into the island in the kitchen and showering him with glass. Pain shoots through his spine as the corner of the island digs into his lower back. The lights grow bright with intensity and the humming of overworked bulbs can be heard for only a moment until all of the lights in 221b explode, sending the flat into total darkness.

John hits the ground, and covers his head and neck as the last of the lights and glass fall onto him. After that, everything is silent. "Sh- Sherlock?" John says slowly, looking up. He can't see much, except the low lights from outside. He can see that the front windows have been blasted as well, so all protection has been destroyed. John hears nothing from the other room, so he attempts to crawl forward; however, pain shoots through his spine once more and he drops forward, holding in any noise that he would let out. He covers his mouth with his hand and, through the tears building in his eyes from the pain, searches for Sherlock once more.

Seconds pass, and soon minutes, but the flat is still silent. Worry builds fast in John's chest, and he ignores the pain- to an extent- and makes a second attempt at crawling on the ground. His mind brings him back to the days when he was in Afghanastan. He remembers crawling just like this through abandoned buildings, trying to search for fallen comrads. Back then, people ran just outside, and the sudden thunder of explosions and bombs rang through his ears. He doesn't know if he prefers that or the eerie silence that surrounds him now, but he does notice the ghosts of the bombs and explosions in his mind.

He finally makes it to the living room, and he stretches his neck upwards and strains his eyes through the darkness towards the couch to see if his friend is still there. His heart drops when he finds it empty. "Oh Sherlock," John says, collapsing to the ground. The built up tears fall, and John takes a deep breath. He looks up again and inches forward. Maybe he fell to the ground and is under the table, but unfortunately he is not there either.

John gives up and drops his head to the floor, and again he lets out a gasp of pain as his head slam into the small pieces of glass. "Jesus Christ-" he says.

"John?" At the sound of his name he snaps his head upward. Two shadows stand above him, and one of them bends down and grasps him by the shoulders. "Jesus, John what happened?" Dean helps the Army Doctor sit up, but again, John cries with the pain jolting through his body.

"Ack! My back, it blew me into the- ow!- table."

"It will be okay John," John recognizes Castiel's voice, but there is something diferent about it. It sounds more solid, more confident. The second shadow kneels in front of him and reaches forward. John closes his eyes as two fingers press against his forehead and almost immediately, the pain from his back and the cuts from the glass disappear. He opens his eyes in shock and stares at Castiel.

"But..." he starts, glancing at Dean. In the darkness, he can see a grin on the hunter's face. "Cas got his mojo back," he said. John looks back at Castiel, who has a small smile on his face. The two of them help John to his feet, and John finally gets a good look around his flat. His heart sinks again at the empty couch and the blasted windows. "I, I'm so sorry," John starts, but Castiel stops him.

"It's not your fault, John." Castiel moves towards the windows, leaning out and looking up into the sky. The stars above shine brighter than usual. "Now that I have my grace back, so does the Found that are still alive. They all get their grace back," he pauses, and waits as Dean moves into the same window and John to the other, and the three of them look up as stars rise from the surrounding area; angels returning to heaven. They can also hear the faint screaming of confused and injured humans. The light created when an Angel has their grace returned is blinding, and can severely injure a human if they are not expecting it.

"Will they be gone forever?" Dean asks.

"No. For now they will go up and reorganize, but I am sure most of them will return to the people they have been staying with, at least to give gratitude."

"Why aren't you up there then?" John asks, looking at the angel's head from outside the building. Castiel looks down towards the street, and John can see Dean in front of the angel. He glances at John before lowering his gaze to Cas.

"They won't want me up there," Castiel mutters. John strains to hear him, "I began all of this, and I have committed countless sins against my garrison before. They won't listen even if I wanted to say something." He withdrawls into the building once more, and John and Dean does the same. 

"Then who took Sherlock? Was it Crowley?" John asked once they were inside. His fists clench at his sides and the anger winthin him grows.

"No," Castiel says. They lock eyes, "It was Metatron."

"Metatron? Why would he want Sherlock?"

"Metatron and Crowley were working together," Dean said, "But now all of a sudden they are turning against eachother. Both are saying that the other cannot be trusted, which complicates things. We have Crowley in our custody back at the Bunker-"

"With Sam?" John asked, "Remember what happened last time?" He didn't know what happened to Sam, but he could tell by Dean's expression that it wasn't good. He glared at John with fury before continung. "This time we have the aid of an angel. He's fine." He was almost yelling at the end, but when Castiel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, the Hunter calmed down almost instantly.

"It's time for us to go after Metatron." Castiel finished.

"Do the angels above know about this? That Metatron was really behind everything?" John began, as the thought enters his mind. "Now that everyone has ther grace and memories back, they can help us find them." As John said this, he sees Castiel visually deflate.

"They don't know," he begins, "but they won't listen-"

"Castiel-" John says sternly. He moves forward and grabs the angel by his shoulders and looks him in the eye. He can sense the glare from his right from Dean, but he ignores it. "He has Sherlock. Sherlock is to me like Dean is to you. I know that the other angels might resent you, but Sherlock needs you, I need you, to at least try to talk to them." He pauses, and he can see at least some understanding in the blue eyes, especially when he mentioned Dean. "Please Castiel."

Angel and Army Doctor stare at eachother, and John can hear Dean shift uncomfortly besides them. He can see the cogs in Castiels mind turn and clink, and slowly, very slowly, the angle squares his shoulders and stands tall once again. "I will try John." he simply says in his deep voice. He looks out the window, and then at Dean. John can tell they are having some sort of internal conversation, but he doesn't understand what I would be about. Dean finally nods, and Castiel looks back at John. "I will be back," before vansihing with a ruffle of invisible feathers.


	9. Chapter 9

The bunker is silent.

No one says anything. Sam looks from Dean, who gives the table a death stare as he furiously taps on the wood, to John, who pases around the long table, to Crowley, who just scowls from his Devil's trap in the corner. There has been no word from either Sherlock, Castiel, nor Metatron; there has been no more murders either since the angels have regained their grace. Dean whispers a prayer to Castiel, begging for ANY sort of update, or even just to let him know he is still alive, almost every 15 minutes. He knows the reborn angel can hear him, but he has yet to get any response.

* * *

Castiel stands at the back of the crowd, silent. At first no one notices him; the angels are too busy trying to answer questions and trying to gain control of themselves, which, in the end, only causes more uproar. It is until one of the angels spots Castiel that something happens. He falls silent and still as well, in shock at the appearance of Heaven's Traitor. Soon, an angel next to him notices his surprise, and spots Castiel as well. The chain reaction begins, and it is no more than five minutes that the entire area is silent, watching Castiel with expressions varying from confusion, to anger.

Castiel squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. He has no idea where to begin, but he better say something, quick, before a second riot begins, ending with Castiel on the ground with scorched wings behind him.

"I understand your confusion." he begins. His audience is still silent. A lot of them tower above him, due to the height differences, and they all narrow they eyes at Castiel, waiting for his excuses. Castiel gulps and looks behind him at a materialized stage. He climbs up on it and is now able to see above everyone else. This gives him a little confidence boost, and he continues on. "First, I need to apologize for, for everything. I admit that I have played a crucial role in the falling of angels, but I also played a part in returning all of our grace." He paused, letting his apology sink in. Still no reaction.

"It is Metatron-" he is interrupted by a laugh in the crowd.

"Metatron? He has been in isolation for a millennia! What part did he have in all of this?"

"He took my grace, and manipulated me into completing the two other tasks as well-"

"Excuses, excuses!" He heard.

At this, he flexes out his shoulder blades, and he imagines his large wings puffing out behind him. Right now, no one's wings can be seen, but the other angels can sense the shift in Castiel's stance and they fall silent once more.

"Where were you all when you fell? Becoming them, human. You accepted your fate without attempting to find out what happened! You stayed with humans, becoming one of them! How many of you tried to find a way to get your grace back?" He waited for an answer. There was none. "I was the only one who figured out how to return to heaven, and I was the only one who succeeded!  If I did what you all did, we would still be stuck on earth, and believe me or not, Metatron would have gained the power of both Heaven and Hell- yes, he has been working with Crowely the whole time- but none of YOU would have KNOWN that, because you were all to busy making LUNCHES for your HUMANS!"

Castiel is met with silence once more, but a different type; angels were looking at anything and everything besides Castiel. They knew he was right. Castiel took a couple of unnecessary breaths to calm down. Being human for that long a period of times gave him some new habits that were going to be difficult to break. It was the same for some of the angels in front of him, for he heard a couple of awkward coughs and saw some shuffling. Finally someone speaks.

"So what do we do now?"

Castiel realizes that he has been put in the leadership position.  He has gained the trust of his garrison, and he has finally regained the respect from his brothers and sisters. He feels a glow of pride and relief surround him, and the eyes looking at him hold significantly less hatred. "First," he says, "We find Sherlock."

* * *

 

Sherlock leans back in the chair and rolls his eyes. He doesn't know how long he has been in this room, but he is getting tired of being here. In front of him, the distressed angel pases back and forth, muttering to himself about some back-up plan, or lack thereof. The only reason Sherlock says nothing is becasue Metatron did something to prevent Sherlock's mouth from moving.

"You have no use for me why did you kidnap me?"

"Despite your teleportation, I know exactly where we are."

"Your vessel was cheating on his wife with another man before you made home in his meat suit, and you are teling me that you are against homosexuality?"

"I don't need to be a Consulting Detective to know that your plan, whatever it might be will not-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Now Sherlock voluntarily sits on the chair, not moving, because he has nothing else to do. The only sound he makes is an occasional exaggerated sigh, each time sending Metatron more on edge.

The taking of Sherlock was unexpected and a desparate attempt at defeating Castiel. This was his last chance; he had no other options. He knows he has been defeated; how can he gain power over the angels now that they regained their grace? At first he was planning on using the infuriating human as bait, to lead Castiel here so he can at least have the satisfaction in killing him, but now he doesn't know if he can hold out that long.

"Fucking Crowely," he mutters, "That demon was no help at all. And those Winchesters. Trouble, the both of them. They should have been at the top of my killing list. Should have gotten rid of them fisrt. It's okay, none of the humans will be able to find me, only Castiel. He will come alone. I am prepared this time- STOP LAUGHING- I will defeat him this time. I will." He flexes his hands and shakes his arms. "Any minute now. He wil be here-"

He stops suddenly. Sherlock sits up in his chair. Metatron senses the shift in the air around him. He gulps.

"This ends now, Metatron." Castiel says behind him.

A small smile forms on Metatron's face as he turns to face Castiel. He sees that the angels eyes are glowing white, though not very bright; Castiel has found control in his grace, and he is waiting. Faint shadows of wings are on the wall behind him. "Oh, yes it does Castiel." And in turn Metatrons eyes begin to glow as well. At the same time, silver daggers fall into each angels' hands, and two paris of wings explode from their backs. Sherlock's eyes open wide at the scene, watching from the side. He also observes.

He watches Castiel flair his wings as he jumps forward, and Metatron jumping back. He notices the difference in color of each angels' wings. He finds the irony in the dark colors of the good angel's, and the pure white of the evil. Castiel swipes his dagger, but misses each time, before he throws his fist into Metatrons jaw. Sherlock hears a crack, but the angel jumps forward in anger, and sees that he has dropped his dagger. 

Matatron jumps on top of Castiel and light explodes in the large room, and Sherlock is momentarily blinded. He shields his eyes until the light disappears. Soon the light dies down, and he lowers his arm. There is now only one angel in the room with him. He slowly walks forwad, and his eyes finally readjusts to the light. Castiel lays on the ground before him, unconscious, with charred wings on the ground.

Sherlock kneels next to the angels and looks. He sees parts of the charred wings on the arms of Castiel and part of his chest. These are not the charred wings of Castiel. "He killed Metatron," Sherlock mutters. He alo finds a smally lump in Castiel's shirt, and upon inspection, finds a small vial around Castiel's next, full of a milky white substance. He stares at it wide-eyed, and Castiels eyes flutter open.

"W-what happened?" he says, surprisinlgy weak.

"Castiel, do you have enough strength to get us to John? To Dean?" Castiel tries to look at Sherlock, but lets his head fall back. He closes his eye once more, but son he gives a little nod. "Just enough." He says, and in a blink of an eyes, they are both at the bunker.

* * *

 

Dean looks at the vial in his hand. The glass is smooth and pure, wothout a crack on its surfaces. the substance swirls within, but Dean sees dark streaks within the liquid. "So this is Metatron?" He hands it to Sam, so he can have a better look. Sam looks at it with awe, while Dean was glad to get it out of his hands. Everyone began to panic when Castiel and Sherlock suddenly appeared in the bunker. Dean practicaly pushed Sherlock out of the way, and it took Sherlock a good five minutes to convice Dean that the angel was in fact not dead.

"But what of the charred marks on his coat?!"

"They are not his! I told you they are metatrons!"

"Then why is he unconscious!?"

In the end, Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave up and joined John on the couch so that the Doctor made sure that he was as healthy as he claimed to be (turns out Sherlock had a few cracked ribs, for the explosion of light was an actual explosion, and threw him into the wall). Soon Castiel woke up, but was still too weak to do anything, so Dean and Sam brough him to the couch where he is resting.

"That is what is left of Metatron," Crowley says. They still keep him in the devil's trap for now, but their worry towards the demon has decreased considerably since the angels have returned to heaven. "Can I go now? I have hell to rule over."

"We wait until the angel wakes up." Dean says.

Soon the angel does wake up, only after 4 hours. Castiel glares at Crowley. "Which side were you on?" he asks.

Crowley only shrugs. "The winning side, love. Now can I go?" Castiel narrows his eyes even more, and finally he scuffles a gap in the trap with his shoe, and without a word of thanks Crowley is gone.

"Give me that vial, and I will hide it in a place where it will never be found." Sam hands the angel the vial, and it immediately disappears from Castie's hand. He then turns to Sherlock and John. "Do you wish to return to London?"

At first neither of them say anything, but soon John deflates a bit. "I just want some tea." he says with a laugh. Sherlock rolls his eyes, and they are interrupted with his phone going off.

"Sherlock Holmes-" he is silent, and after a minute, "Yes." The rest of thm watch the consulting detective, and he looks at the Winchesters as he says, "I do, actually," with a smirk. Sam raises his eyebrows in curiosity, and Dean crosses his arms with caution. John narrows his eyes with suspicion. "Yes Lestrade, just tell me where and we will be there in a few seconds" Sherlock hangs up his phone.

"There have been reports of people with black orbs as eyes. Now I have not been in this area of crime for long, but I am assuming these are some sort of deamons. I am sure Crowle took no time off, and it would be very convenient if you were to join me with this."

"What, go to London?" Dean starts. It is at the same moment when Sam answers "Hell yes!" and Dean yells, "Hell no!"

John smirks, and takes hold of Sherlock arm. Sam grabs Dean as well, and Castiel lifts his hand to Sam and Sherlock's forehead, and in an instant the bunker is empty.

**-End-**


End file.
